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Charismatic Atrocities

Chapter 1 of my upcoming Novel

By Acacia Lynn StonehockerPublished 10 months ago 9 min read
The mostly infamous Jean-Claude

Charismatic Atrocities is a fiction/horror/fantasy novel taking place within the lands of Leyerynn. A land of various regions, landscapes, and of course factions. With an array of folklore, supernatural phenomenon, and the creatures that many would only fathom within their nightmares. Charismatic Atrocities helps to bring those nightmares to fruition.

Join Jean-Claude, a Pratum bard whose wit and charm are his only saving grace. Follow his adventures from bedding exotic-fleshed beauties, escaping devilish creatures by the wit of his trousers, and joining a party unlike any other you have ever seen.

Uncover mysteries, delight in horrific grotesque scenes, and charm your way through battlefields with an array of lovers and enemies. By the end of your journey you will truly discover why they are called Charismatic Atrocities!

I hope you enjoy the unedited first chapter of my up-and-coming novel! I have a facebook page where you can follow along and get updates when the book is released! If you have read the initial draft, many changes have been made for a whole new style of writing, but with the same humor, and sense of depravity that you love!


Chapter 1: Failed Intuition

For many, intuition is a sacred and unfathomable inner-personal trait, similar to how one could have the foresight to avoid danger. In contrast, others may not necessarily have known to look for such precautions in the most unsuspecting places. It can appear as treacherous as the cascading waterfalls within Leyerynn, their jagged rocks eroded from the consistent pressure of water crashing over them. But danger could also emerge under the rouse of a beautiful creature that shares your bed and could as quickly de-flesh your bones and rip out your heart while you are unaware and in a most vulnerable state.

But then again, how dangerous could something with skin as coruscating as the most flawless of Onyx gemstones be?

It was miserable when the sun never shined in Leyerynn, coupled with the constant rain. The vast overcast gloom of daytime brought nothing but despair and an overwhelming sense of depression to almost everyone. Maybe that’s why he loved making people laugh and celebrate, especially when life would rather kill you than cater to you.

Although everyone preferred the gloom of overcast days versus the array of conveyed darkness, that night welcomed. At least during the day, you could see what was trying to kill you, versus at night when you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Heaven forbid trying to travel at night or see anything without a torch illuminating your path; it would be impossible.

He turned to his side and watched as the raindrops fell from the poorly constructed ceiling toward the floor of his chambers. It was a squalor of a room, but it was his for the time being. He could live like a king, not a king of riches and wealth, but a king of good drink and fine exquisite women.

Jean-Claude ameliorated from his early-risen inner thoughts and turned to his side, facing the silver-hair Celestial being that graced his chambers with the utmost radiance. Her hair razed around her immaculate cheekbones, falling into place amongst her onyx flesh. He gently traced his fingertips along her naked curves, encompassing her prominent beauty bones. However, he ensured not to touch her flesh as lightly as a feather or as firmly as a lover to incite something as simple as an itch to wake her Celestial presence. Her onyx flesh had an underlying sparkle, like gazing at the most beautiful of distant stars within the flesh of the unholiest beings.

He turned from her graces and wriggled from the bed, never taking his eyes off the sleeping goddess, for she was a proper form to marvel at. He fell, like a serpent gracefully taking flight from a tree limb, only to land coiled without injury, ready to commence its inevitable venture. He furtively rose from the floor and went to where his clothes lay, unkempt upon the rotting wooden floorboards on the other side of his chambers.

Snatching them as quickly as possible to obscure the sounds coming from the rotting floorboards he trod over, he intended to make a hastily footed escape and prevent his sleeping companion from rising. Jean-Claude assured himself she would wake with fury to rival the most sadistic creatures Leyerynn called home.

Most creatures within the Outlands would rather have some level of self-preservation, but the creatures who didn’t have that instinct or didn’t care for self-preservation were all the more intimidating. For some, life was lovely, like the bloom of a corpse flower, but for others, life was as foul as the stench the Corpse flower emits. He knew what his sleeping companion was but not who she was, which was enough for him to weigh the exemplary details of their coupling. That knowledge was an invaluable decision-making tool that could save his valuable sense of self or, more importantly, his manhood.

“Why are these linens wet?” He scowled under his breath. Assuredly quiet enough not to wake his sleeping companion. He turned to look through the small window near where he stood, peering into the village through stained, mud-smeared panes. What a small lonely place to call home, he thought. Nothing but auroch and the stench of fecal matter decaying on the breeze would welcome him daily. Not the most glamorous place to call home, but it was home, nonetheless. Far better prospects than traveling without a band of like-minded adventurers by his side; he would be dead within a fortnight.

It was a mere moment of memories and candid thoughts before the rustling of sheets, and the creak of the bed they had once shared, reverberated in the room’s silence. Turning his attention quickly toward the sleeping creature, he barely caught a moment of relief when he felt the tightening grip of her hand around his throat. Panic set in as his legs lifted from the floor, only to be brought into view of the immaculate creature before him. She held him like a child’s doll. He was unsure whether to panic or become excited, both of which were possible outcomes for this exact scenario.

He dangled mid-air, slightly uncomfortable, but for one so small, being held like a plaything was a common occurrence; and one that he had grown quite fond of in particular moments where it could be beneficial. She stood an UN-exaggerated eight feet tall and similar to the blossoming black ebony trees that grew throughout the most beautiful, lush areas of Leyerynn. Nothing like it could be found within the Outlands. She was exotic to every one of the five senses, especially her lingering exquisite taste, which rested on his tongue. He smirked confidently as her taste reverberated around his taste buds, like the sweetest of nectar with an exquisite smoky scent as an aftertaste.

Her once-magnificently exquisite face adorned by high cheekbones and a radiant complexion was now distorted by the accented shadows of what appeared to be a porcelain-tempered deer skull pushing against the flesh of her face. Her once sharp yet desirable cheekbones were now nothing more than bone ripping and protruding through gouged flesh that hung loosely from her face. He was terrified at her monstrous appearance yet equally excited that he tried resisting the pulsating betrayal in his trousers.

Right on time, even as I’m about to be devoured or potentially worse, he laughed to himself; even in a crisis, I can still count on you to show up in the most inconvenient ways.

“Did you think you’d sneak away without giving me what is owed, tiny one?” she mocked.

“Do you know that you taste fiercely earthy and tart like Black Lace Elderberries?” Jean-Claude sheepishly replied, trying to calm the savage beast the goddess would most assuredly turn into once she realized he had no intention of paying her for her particular “skill set.”

She snapped a bellicose look and tightened her grip as she spoke, “Do not toy with me, tiny one!” Her words, venomous as intended, did little to stir his cautionary resolve. However, other feelings were stirring within Jean-Claude, some unsavory and not for the faint of heart.

A deep reverberating sound echoed from within her mouth, almost as if she was laughing, although her lips did not move. It was disturbing enough to convey any of his resolve yet scared him enough that he was excited about the intimidation. That’s what made her one hell of a lover. It wasn’t a good time if they didn’t intimidate or scare him a little.

If he weren’t absolutely petrified during those brief moments, he would have assuredly taken the opportunity to make a joke most foul. However, he felt it might not be well received at that moment. His tiny legs kicked against the open air like a child swinging their legs from a tree limb, unable to reach even the shortest of heights. However, with such a creature holding his neck in mid-air, he dared not make any rash movements, he was mighty, but he was small and delicate, like a rabid small dog who thinks themselves more prominent than they are.

The pressure around his neck increased as he stalled his words. He grabbed at her hand as if to make some poor attempt to persuade her to release him and not break his neck like a small rabbit after a hunt. Even amid the situation, which very likely would kill him, he still felt the increase in blood pressure, an excitement that he was quite used to, but in another sense. He noticed her eyes had dissipated and were now replaced with nothing but blackness—a purple hue radiating from the hollow orbitals where her eyes once resided. The purple hue appeared almost as if the hottest of flames, so fierce that it slowly melted the flesh from her orbital sockets to allow it to drip down her now exposed cheekbones.

“You will give me my coppers,” she snarled. Once earthy and deep set with a hint of feminine poise, her words were now nothing but a deep-throated growl. Words managed to escape, but her mouth did not move. However, he imagined that if it did, a deer head’s moving jawbone might send him over the edge.

Jean-Claude could barely make out a raspy response but managed to move enough to squeeze out a rushed and pained nod in exchange for her demands. She immediately dropped him and turned on her heels, exposing her onyx-tinted ass through the opening of the crude linen sheet wrapped around her. He sat idle on the floor, cross-legged like a child listening to a story. Holding his neck as if that would satiate his discomfort and pain. But he watched in anticipation as he knew the minute she captured the contents of his pouch, she would become most unpleasant and potentially homicidal.

It’s always the beautiful ones that are dangerous.

However, he could not help but worship the ground she walked upon. For every step she took, blossomed, tiny buds and mossy growths emerged beneath each step, leaving a small overgrown patch of nature under her every footstep, even in her semi-grotesque form (which he used lightly). Jean-Claude knew her kind’s authentic appearance was that of sheer terror. It was enough to make him fade like a coward and never cross another of her kind again. He was surprised he was still breathing after the disarray of the morning’s events.

They hold grudges, you know.

She hastily squabbled through his pouch, and he could tell by her tense body language that he was about to face what happens when you betray a Wenlisk. He hurried to his feet and darted for the door of his chambers, but not before he caught a glimpse of something porcelain white from the corner of his eye. Her skull whipped around with an aura almost as unforgettable as her body. The purple hue of her orbital sockets had now engulfed her entire head and exposed anything but what you would think could have been a woman at one point. The slight clanking of her horns inundated the room to the point he could almost not hear himself think. The gem adornments fastened with silk clattered against one another and were the last thing he saw before his naked and unkempt body cascaded through the window and plummeted from the second story of his chambers.

He was all for aggressive lovemaking, but even this was a bit extreme. He may call it divine intervention, but most would consider it failed intuition.


About the Creator

Acacia Lynn Stonehocker

An avid author who loves to explore horror, and macabre, with a hint of humor in combination with painting scenes that almost anyone can enjoy! Most of my stories are horror in nature with elements that entice and allow a vivid picture!

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    Acacia Lynn StonehockerWritten by Acacia Lynn Stonehocker

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